


All's Fair, in Love and. . . .

by beetle



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Avengers University, Avengers-in-Training, Canon Het Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ensemble Trainwreck, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Everyone's an Avenger, F/M, Het and Slash, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I don't even know yet, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Slash, Slash, Slow Burn, Spideypool - Freeform, Stony - Freeform, Superhero University, WinterFalcon - Freeform, except me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7935268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Wade are training to be Avengers? Scott Lang's there, too? Also . . . Stony (I feel so dirty)? WinterFalcon? Brutasha? I don't even know how to summarize this. Best summary is the tags, I guess. Written for this prompt: (http://writing-challenges-and-prompts.tumblr.com/post/149734320858/writing-prompt-dialogue). Also, see end notes for full prompt.</p><p>Notes/Warnings: SUPER AU. Presumes that Cap and Iron Man made up in a non-messy way at the end of CA:CW. Also presumes that Spidey and Deadpool took part in—though on opposite sides—the Civil War, and eventually wound up at the Avengers’ training facility in Upstate New York, at the same time. No warnings I can think of . . . frankly, if you’re still here after that novel of a note, you’re golden. Bless ya!</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair, in Love and. . . .

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inbarati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbarati/gifts).



“Okay, hold! I said _hold_ , damnit!”

 

Peter Benjamin Parker groaned, rolling from his previous position of crumpled, demoralized heap into a new position: that of dazed and dizzied toddler-man.

 

At least, that’s how it felt as he blinked and shook his head, till the dizziness, at least, passed, leaving him simply dazed and gaping at Professor Barnes and _Wade-freaking-Wilson_ as they rolled around on the mat, alternately grappling with and pummeling each other. Professor Barnes, though—slightly—shorter than Wilson, was also built kind of low and mean, like a natural brawler (which was why he, along with Professor Romanov, were teaching this class). He was all thick, coiled muscle and street-style, power-packed punches. Not even taking into account his fancy new alloy-arm with the Avengers symbol just below the shoulder.

 

Wilson, however, was longer, leaner, lither, and faster. Built kind of like a runner, and wielding slick, _sick_ covert ops-type moves. He struck seemingly harmless blows all over Professor Barnes’ torso, but for the grunts each impact drove from the professor. Wilson clearly was _not_ pulling those mercury-fast punches in the slightest. And every time Professor Barnes landed a blow, Wilson laughed like a maniac.

 

“Jeez, that guy’s a fuckin’ _machine_ ,” Scotty Lang noted, offering Peter a hand up. Peter took it and let himself be pulled up with ease. Even without the ant-suit, Scotty was pretty strong. Certainly stronger than he _looked_ . . . which, like Peter, wasn’t very.

 

Unlike Peter, however, not only was Scotty _strong_ , but because of his stint in prison, dude could _fight_. Like, hand-to-hand shit that Peter was still crap at, when one didn’t factor in his spidey-strength, agility, and stickiness.

 

Hence, this particular class. One that Cap insisted _all_ his Avengers take (rumor had it that Cap had even personally taught Iron Man how to fight sans suit, shortly after the . . . unpleasantness had ended. And that tutelage had formed the basis for this class). No super-strength/super-suits allowed, just good old-fashioned mano-a-mano fist-fighting.

 

And who better to teach it, of course, than an ex-Hydra assassin (deprogrammed) from Brooklyn and an ex-KGB spy/assassin from the former-Soviet Union?

 

“Machine . . . right. . . .” Peter puffed, trying to catch his breath. With as much as he disliked Wilson, he wasn’t terribly upset that, for the moment, it was _him_ out there, getting his ass beat, instead of Peter. “Which _one_?”

 

Scotty snorted. “Either? Both? Take your pick, Pete.”

 

Huffing a weary laugh, Peter wiped his sweaty brow and elbowed Scotty lightly. “My money’s on Professor Barnes.”

 

“Really? I mean, he’s _aight_ , an’ all, but Wilson’s got a _lotta_ crazy. _And_ he’s ex-Special Forces,” Scotty added, nodding as Wilson got in another good shot to Professor Barnes’ expressionless, eerie-handsome face. “That’s gotta _count_ for somethin’.”

 

“Yeah, but . . . _Canadian_ Special Forces . . . what does _Canada_ ever fight? A legion of mooses? Meese? Whatever.” Peter waved his hand dismissively as the fight continued despite Professor Romanov’s narrowed eyes and increasingly displeased commands to _stop_. Peter held out his hand to Scotty. “Twenty bucks says Professor Barnes takes the fight to Wilson.”

 

“Oh, you’re _on_ , my good man.” Scotty accepted the bet and Peter’s hand for a firm shake, with their own special fist-bumps, finger-locks, and even _jazz-hands_ , because they were just _that cool_. “I fought beside Barnes _and_ Wilson, and Barnes's scary-good. But Wilson’s just _scary_. And like I said, that’s _gotta_ count for _somethin’_.”

 

“Not sayin’ it _doesn’t,_ but . . . Professor Barnes has, like, a _lot_ of rage, you know?” Peter shrugged. “A _lot_. Plus, that sweet-ass metal arm.”

 

“Yeah, but—not allowed to use the arm in this class,” Scotty reminded Peter smugly. Peter snorted.

 

“Yeah, and freaking _Deadpool_ isn’t supposed to tackle a _professor_ in the middle of a demonstration, either, and yet, here we are.” Peter shrugged again, then he and Scotty backed up as Professor Barnes and Wilson rolled their way, Barnes as silent as the grave—as usual—and Wilson singing _Bad Touch_ , breathlessly off-key. Peter rolled his eyes, fighting a smile—it really wouldn’t do to _encourage_ Wilson even a little, especially when he was certain the other’s white lenses were, despite the fighting, focused on _Peter_ —and called: “ _Jesus_ , Wilson, even your taste in _music_ is sketchy! The nineties called, and it wants its shitty, pseudo-rap crap back!”

 

“Ah, c’mon, don’t be like _that_ , Petey-Pie!” Wilson retorted, still breathless, then grunting as Professor Barnes landed a kidney-blow like a cannonball, and not even with his _metal_ arm. “I wanna do, with _you_ , the kinda stuff that only _Prince_ would sing about! Huh? Huh? For-realsies!”

 

Peter shook his head, covering his flaming face with one grubby, callused hand. _Give Wilson an inch and he takes a fucking mile. This is what I get,_ he thought ruefully, _for even opening my mouth._

 

“So, my young friend, are we ever gonna talk about how he’s _totally_ got a thing for you?” Scotty wondered, sounding way too amused. “I mean, first he’s standing under your window with a boombox, playing Peter Gabriel—”

 

“Please, don’t remind me,” Peter groaned, half-turning away from the fight. Wilson's little . . . eighties-style attempt at wooing might've _almost_ been charming, except it hadn’t even been the _right_ Peter Gabriel _song_. And it'd woken up so many people in Peter's wing that Vision'd come to investigate. Resulting in a calm, nonetheless _hours_ -long conversation with a manic, trench-coated Wilson about both the time and place for romantic overtures, and the inappropriateness of an _underage young man_ as the _focus_ of those overtures—all still under Peter's second-floor window—that'd been as surreal to listen to as it'd been amusing. Now, Peter mumbled to himself, shaking his head. " _Still_ can't get that damn song outta my head. . . ."

 

“And now, he’s fighting what’s _easily_ our scariest professor—after happening by while said scary professor was demonstrating a sleeper-hold on you—because . . . reasons?” Scotty shrugged, grinning and slinging an arm around Peter, dragging him close. "I dunno, Pete. I don't think Wilson _or_ his crush on you are going away any time soon. . . ."

 

“First: _Romanov_ is our scariest professor, hands down. And second: I fucking _hate_ you, Lang.” Peter elbowed Scotty again, a bit more sharply. After a surprised _oof!_ Scotty chuckled, his arm around Peter falling away.

 

“Seriously, though, it’s . . . kinda _sweet_ . . . in a pathetic, _batshit_ sorta way. He’s, like, defending your honor. Right, Wade?”

 

“Damn right, Scotty! Damn right! I’m— _oh, fuck_!—defendin' that honor, Baby _BLAAAAGH_!” Wilson choked out, as Professor Barnes got him in the same sleeper-hold he’d demonstrated on Peter. Wilson beat at Professor Barnes' arm—still just the flesh and bone arm—and it briefly loosened. _Briefly_. “And that— _gah!_ —sweet, _sweet_ _AAAAGH_!”

 

“See?” Scotty sounded far too pleased. Peter covered his face again, just in time to hear a loud, sickening _crunch!_ and the sudden absence of Wilson’s crazy laughter and stupid singing. When he peeked through his fingers, Professor Barnes was standing up, his face as expressionless as ever while he wiped a trickle of blood from his left nostril. Then he looked at Peter, eyes narrowed as if to say: _Now_ that _was a proper sleeper-hold, and you missed the demonstration, Parker_.

 

Then he was stalking past a glaring Professor Romanov—she demanded _something_ of him in Russian, and his reply was a clipped _nyet_ —and out of the salle, like a living shadow in his black TAC gear.

 

Then Professor Romanov was shaking her head and striding over to Wilson, whose neck was twisted at a _very_ unnatural angle. She knelt next to him and felt for his pulse. After a few moments, she mumbled some more in Russian and stood up, eyeing Peter and Scotty, who stared back with wide eyes.

 

“Well!” she said with suspect brightness, aimed mostly at Scotty. “I suppose class is dismissed a little early, this once. But I expect you and Parker to work on his grappling skills, since you have all this extra time on your hands, Lang,” she added, when an elated Scotty started doing the Running Man. Scotty nodded eagerly and the Running Man became the Roger Rabbit, because, seriously, Scotty, like Wilson, had last-century-on-the-brain.

 

“Sure thing, Professor,” he said, waving his right arm out in a passable Snake, toward Peter, who rolled his eyes once more, trying his best to ignore him. But Scotty just did it again, his green eyes wide, his mouth gaping and tongue hanging out like a puppy’s. “Don’t be afraid to pick up what I’m puttin’ down, Petey! Do the Snake!”

 

Sighing, Peter stuck out his arm and did a half-hearted Snake that connected with Scotty’s. The other man whooped and continued his old-timey dance-medley with great enthusiasm.

 

“Does this mean you two're engaged?” Professor Romanov asked dryly, her eyebrow quirking in that Russian-y, assassin-y way that was half-sexy, half-deadly and all-judgmental. Peter sighed once more, smiling limply.

 

“Not till he shows me the ring, we’re not,” he said just as dryly.

 

“Oh, Petey-Padawan, I gotta lady back in Cali that’d fight you to the _death_ for that ring,” Scotty said gleefully, moon-walking his way around Wilson’s prone body—ignoring the awful cracking sounds as Wilson’s neck straightened out—and toward the exit. He finger-gunned Peter and Professor Romanov. “Speaking of, gonna give her a quick ring-a-ding-dillo before next class and see if she misses me, yet!”

 

“How could she not?” Professor Romanov asked in that same dry voice, eyebrow still quirked as she watched Scotty dance his way around a corner. Then she cast a measuring look at Peter, then at Wilson—who was groaning and grumbling to himself as he tried to sit up—then slinked out of the salle in that sexy-deadly stride of hers, calling back to Peter: "And don't forget: Lang owes you twenty bucks, Parker! No one likes a welsher!"

 

Peter sighed yet again. It was just that kind of day. "Couldn't forget even if I tried," he muttered, nodding, though he knew _Scotty_ wouldn't remember it. Or even care if Peter pestered him about it. He'd just pay up, wearing that daffy, befuddled smile. But still, it was a matter of honor, for Peter. Even if he was flat-broke and desperate, he still wouldn't try to collect on a friend who was likely low on funds, too. (The fact that _Peter_ had, indeed, already burned through the monthly stipend he received as an Avenger-in-Training was neither here, nor there.)

 

“Heyya . . . Petey-pants . . . didja _see_? I . . . _ow, fuck_ . . . I put the fear of _Canada_ into Pretty-Boy Barnes for you! _Whoot_!" Wilson was twitching and spazzing, barely able to move his head, despite his mouth still working fine. "Guess he'll be findin' someone else to practice his handsy little  _holds_ on, eh? Regina, Sasketchewan! Represent!”

 

“Yeah, ya sure did Canada proud, Deadpool.” If Peter kept rolling his eyes at _this_ rate, they’d suffer whiplash. Stepping over Wilson’s twitching body, Peter also made for the exit, winnowing his distracted mind toward his next class: _Strategy_ , with Professor Hill.

 

“Ah, c’mon, Baby Boy . . . it’s _Wade_ , for you. Or _Daddy_ if, you know, you’re feelin’ . . . _obedient_ ,” Wilson said smarmily, sounding as if he was really _straining_ to sit up. Peter could almost imagine the other man leering after him, despite the mask—which he’d never taken off in Peter’s presence—and suddenly, he’d had enough. After nearly two months of this creep perving on him non-stop and not-so-low-key _stalking him_ , Peter Benjamin Parker had had _enough_.

 

“Y’know what? _Fuck you_ , Wilson! Lemme alone!” Peter tossed over his shoulder, hands clenching into fists at his sides, shoulders tense and squared. From behind him, Wilson gasped melodramatically, then chuffed his manic laugh . . . though it was interspersed with pained groans.

 

“Fuck _me_? Well, if _that’s_ the way you like it, Baby Boy, I’ll be more than glad to roll over for _you_! Granted, no one’s put their magic wand in my fairy love-grotto for a while, now, but for you? The grotto’s open twenty-four/seven and tight as fuck!” Wilson called after him, still laughing, as if he could see how flushed with anger and embarrassment Peter was. And given that Peter’s neck was prone to going as red as his stupid fucking _face_. . . . “Hell, if you hit my special spot _just right_ , _I’ll call_ you _Daddy_!”

 

That crazy laughter followed Peter all the way back to the locker-room, it seemed, where he shucked his sweaty sweats and stood under the facility’s never ending supply of hot water for several minutes. His brain was torn evenly between anger at Wilson’s innuendos and laughter, and despair at the certainty that _once again_ , Professor Hill was going to be _super_ , yet _passively-aggressively_ pissed at him _and_ his lack of participation in class, today.

 

Well . . . _lately_ , really.

 

In fact, when it came to Superhero University . . . Peter Parker, a.k.a. "Spider-Man," was _seriously_ under-performing (never mind Stark's and Rogers' weird, unshakable faith in him). He was maybe even, for the first time in his academic life, on the edge of washing out completely. And—

 

—and fucking _Deadpool_ was sexually harassing him _constantly_! And fucking _laughing_ about it, too!

 

Peter shook his head under the hot water, miserably blowing out a mouthful. “What even is my _life_?” he complained to absolutely no one at all. And, unsurprisingly, that was exactly who answered.

 

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _“Come on in. The water’s warm.”_
> 
> _“No, thanks.”_
> 
> _“I never thought someone like you would be shy of a skinny-dip.”_
> 
> _“It’s not that. It’s just–”_
> 
> _“What? There’s no reason to be embarrassed.”_
> 
> _“… I can’t swim.”_
> 
> _“Get in the shallow end. I’ll teach you.”_
> 
>  
> 
> Do I dare go on with this piece? If you think so, you know know what to do!  
> ::points at comment box::
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr](https://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com/)!


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